


Systema Sensorium

by PKA



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial, Desperate!Hannibal, Icy!Will, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sexual Tension, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PKA/pseuds/PKA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a badly hidden secret. Hannibal is not amused. Things don't go the way Dr. Lecter originally intended them to go.</p><p>A fic in five parts, all of them focusing on one of the five classic senses we know: Smell, Sight, Hearing, Touch and Taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Odoratus

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker so there might be some mistakes. Ok, there are definitely going to be mistakes. Feel free to point them out - I'm trying to get better!

Will's smell had always been discernible among a hundred others and from several feet away. Dogs, fish, cheap aftershave. Fear, nervousness, encephalitis. And somewhere, buried deeply underneath, the indescribable aroma that was Will's body itself. 

He smelled the mixture of Will's, Dolarhyde's and his own blood on Will, when he reached for Hannibal on the eroding bluff. It was intoxicating. Hannibal wanted to let Will bath in the blood of thousand others in order to refine his scent. He wanted to breathe in his sour adrenaline and the sweet thrills of killing, time and time again.  
But those times never came. Instead, he perceived the salty sea air on Will's skin when they crossed the ocean and the warm sunlight that engraved itself on him while they accommodated to their new, shared home.

Will did not emanate the smell of fear anymore. After they had alighted from the floodwaters and defied his own will he seemed to have gotten more self-confident. He learned to accept his fate, in his own small steps.

But Will's plan did not include further murders. That was alright, for the moment. It was enough to have Will close, well and happy.

Wills odor was a blessing and an appetizer for Hannibal's nose.

But this time it was different.

For the past weeks - and after Hannibal had to practically drag him out of the house to expose him to other people at all for the longest time - Will had been going out alone. To go on a walk and to think, Hannibal had assumed. He thought of it as progress. He wanted Will to be on his side out of his own volition – Strong and self-aware. It was necessary for Will to make his own decisions, even though Hannibal did not like the idea of giving up control over the proceedings.

His doubts had been justified. Now he could sniff on the extent of his misjudgment.

Will had tried to hide it. He stank of unfamiliar, calcareous water and cheap hotel soap, very different from the one Hannibal had persuaded him into using at home. The soap did not emphasize his natural smell, but hid it under a surge of chemical artificiality. It was an affront against Hannibal's sensitive olfactory organ.

Will had scrubbed a lot and Hannibal wondered if he had thought about him, standing under the shower. If he had felt guilty or if he had regretted it. If he had been afraid of Hannibal's reaction.

All the scrubbing had not helped. Her perfume permeated the air.

He felt a sting of jealousy, not unlike that what he had felt when he had met Will again at the BSHCI after three years of separation and smelled his wife on him.  
The strange desire to drag Will under the nearest shower almost overtook him. He wanted to personally see to it that every trace of Will's secret encounter was washed off him, more convincingly than Will had managed himself. He wanted to touch the strained, sensitive parts that Will had scoured so furiously. He wanted to claim what was his with lips and teeth, until only their mingled bouquet of sweat and saliva and sperm remained on Will.

Instead of doing all those things he ignored his new knowledge. Will came into the kitchen with strolling steps. Hannibal did not turn around.

»Hello, Will,« he said and succeeded in sounding distracted from the dinner he prepared.

»Hello, Hannibal,« Will replied with the intentionally expressionless voice Hannibal had gotten accustomed to by now.


	2. Visus

The reason for Will's behavior was obvious. It was adherence of his heterosexuality, the desperate attempt to ignore the physicality that had started to manifest itself in their relationship as soon as they had seen each other fully bared for the first time, back at the cliff.

It was his decision. He had lost his wedding ring to the Atlantic's greedy maw. He was free of all obligations toward Molly. Hannibal had no right to interfere if he had cast an eye on someone else. The gap between what he wanted and what he knew was best for Will crushed him. But he made it work. For a while.

Will never brought the same smell home twice. Initially, he spent his days rarely elsewhere, but with passing months his excursions became more frequent.

Hannibal observed his change without commenting on it. Will had shown dread at first, had watched anxiously and fearfully for Hannibal's reaction. He had become more and more sloppy in his attempts to keep his secret. It had become almost painfully visible by now.

Hannibal could stand the smell of sex that Will brought into their house. He could stand that Will distanced himself, that he needed time. Denial wasn't only the first stage to cancer acceptance. Will would realize it, sooner or later.

What he could not stand was the small, red dot which he discovered on Will's neck one day, barely hidden by the fabric of his tee shirt. Someone else's claiming mark.

He had crossed the room before he had even started to think about it. Suddenly, Will's body had been pinned against the wall and Hannibal had his left forearm against his throat, the right one blocking off the last opportunity of flight.

Hannibal did not remember when he had last acted quite so uncontrolled. It was something only his feelings for Will could unearth from the depths of his being.

The loathsome smell of foreign lust reached his nostrils. It was accompanied by a fine waft of vulcanized caoutchouc. At least Will had learned his lesson after Margot.

»You _reek_ , Will,« Hannibal said. His voice was calm, but his body full of barely contained anger.

Hannibal felt Will's stubble rub against the skin of his arm. He wished it would burn on him until it left red, itchy spots. A reminder of Will's proximity, at least for the next couple of hours.

Hannibal looked at Will's face from close range. He wore his new pair of glasses and looked at a non-existent spot next to Hannibal's shoulder. He showed no reaction to Hannibal's uncharacteristic behavior, as if he had expected it.

»Look at me,« Hannibal demanded.

Will raised his eyes. He faced him, but his expression was bland. He denied Hannibal the privilege to see him. 

It was the first time Will wore his glasses in their home, the first time he armed himself with that shield and refused to let him in. The familiar feeling of rejection pained Hannibal. Will had gotten good at hiding his feelings and withdrawing back into himself, but he had never withheld insight quite as much as he did now.

And still Hannibal could not help feel fascinated by those eyes in front of him. Those eyes that were variable like the sea. He looked into deeply blue depths right now, but he knew that they could change into tones of gray and green in different lighting conditions. Hannibal wanted to paint those eyes, again and again, to make up for his inability to be so close to them on a regular basis.

Everything that Hannibal had learned about the beauty of even faces did not apply to Will. The halves of his face had slightly different heights. His left eye and the left corner of his mouth lay lower than the rest. His nostrils were asymmetrical. His ears stuck out more than the ideal of beauty prescribed. Hannibal wondered if that was the reason why Will hated to look at himself in a mirror. His gaze on himself was different than that of the people around him. In Hannibal's aesthetic perception he was so beautiful it hurt.

Hannibal wanted to adjust a tracking device to his car and put a software on his smartphone in order to chase him down if he had to. In order to be able to keep an eye on his every move, even if it was only on a monitor.

Will's cold, emotionless examination of him burned itself into Hannibal's very soul. Then his glance went lower, to Hannibal's lips, parted from anger and agitation, and from which he desperately tried to breathe slowly in and out.

Hannibal wanted to press their bodies even closer together, wanted to make the nature of his feelings abundantly clear. He wanted to rip Will's clothes off and see where more marks had been put upon his skin, before he covered them with his own. 

He had thought his love for Will platonic for the longest time. Will had ought to be his, but Hannibal had not understood that his attraction to him had also been sexual. Now it had become unavoidable. They had crossed the sea and Will had been his, alone on their boat, unseen in his glory and murderous grace by everyone but Hannibal. Will was a sight that he wanted to enjoy only for himself. To give him up now, into the wild and into the arms of women that could not see the shapeliness of his true substance, did not seem right.

Hannibal loosened his grip around him gradually. 

»You might want to consider taking a shower... again.«

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad to see my favorite alliteration of this story, »die Wohlgestalt seines wahren Wesens (the shapeliness of his true substance)« bite the dust. Translating is hard!


	3. Auditus

»Listen, we have to talk about this.«

Hannibal loved the sound of Will's soft voice.

He would never forget the pained and frustrated noise Will had uttered when they had fought themselves through the current to the soughing sea surface. Will had not wanted to die – He had been _willing_ to die, in order to achieve his goal. Now that the ocean had spit them out again rather unceremoniously he had realized that he could not kill Hannibal, no matter how many times he tried.

Then the shore. Feebleness and a small-sounding entreaty.

»H-Hannibal.«

It was just the whispering of his name, but never had something fulfilled him quite so much before. He had followed Will's lamentations like they were the songs of sirens.

Hannibal had draped his heavy arms around Will. They had shared their body warmth, as they continued to do in the days and weeks of healing that had followed after. Barely responsive, mostly asleep, but always together. Will's trembling lips on and his heavy breathing in his ear had moved him more then any opus of Haydn, Mozart or Beethoven. A symphony of life, of an existence that he was willing to share with Hannibal.

He had abandoned his freedom, had spent three years in prison, for that prospect. For the prospect of quiet utterances of happiness. Will, standing under the shower and humming a song, sometimes even singing a line or another, horribly out of tune but still so very charming. Will, heaving a delighted and unselfconscious sigh when some of Hannibal's food was especially to his taste. Will, muttering something in his deep sleep sometimes, a simple scrap of a word. And Hannibal, who absorbed every one of his pronouncements, standing in his door frame and watching him peacefully resting.

And now the muted apathy in Will's words, the weight of unspoken things between them.

»Maybe it would be good for you to get out of the house more often as well.«

Hannibal appreciated every sound that left Will's mouth. But sometimes he hated the words he said.

Sometimes he wished that Will would try to communicate in a language he did not understand. He wanted to keep the warm timbre of his voice in his ear, without having to think about the meaning behind it.

»I'm rather fond of our new home.«

It was the truth. The width of the world was almost unfamiliar after his time spent at the BSHCI. Hannibal enjoyed the sunshine on his pale limbs when he worked in the garden. He enjoyed the chirping calls of the birds and the rustling of wind in the high grass behind their modest residence. He enjoyed the melodies of nature that he had sorely missed the last few years. He left his familiar grounds when he had to, but he had no need for the monotonous world outside – Everything he wanted was right here.

»I think you are in need of some... distraction.«

Hannibal was aware why Will submitted this proposal. Will had avoided him further, after his loss of control a few days ago. The silence in the house had felt like a curse.

Hannibal lived for his conversations with Will. Only he was able to raise more questions about himself than ever providing answers. Hannibal was sure that they could continue to talk without him ever exhausting the depths of Will's mind. They would surprise and complement each other with insights, forever. The grunts and poetry of life... and love.

»Unlike you, Will, I have no need for denial.«

A sigh slipped out of Will's mouth.

Hannibal wondered which kind of sounds Will would spout during sex. Will's muffled gasps and his traitorously loud intake of air had found their way through the thin walls of their home into Hannibal's fine audition and memory palace many a night. In some of his inner rooms he heard music – And in other, more private ones, he now perceived the echo of Will's hunt after contentedness.

Did Will give free reign to his tones when he was together with a woman? Would they differentiate from those that he would make when Hannibal filled him? Would they sound similar to those that Hannibal had heard from him in times of great pain? The whimpering that had escaped him when Hannibal's knife had pierced through Will's skin and into his abdomen was following him into his dreams.

»It's not being in denial, Hannibal, it's making a decision.«

It was exhilarating how deaf Will could be when there were things he did not want to know. He refused to hear what Hannibal tried to tell him between the lines, despite his endless empathy.

»And what decision have you made, Will?«

»The decision to move on.«

»Then we have come to the same conclusion.«


	4. Tactus

It had been a few weeks since Will last brought a foreign smell into their home. Hannibal had spent days waiting patiently for his next movie, but Will seemed to feel comfortable with the oppressive stagnation of their relationship.

It was an evening like most – Will had retreated soon after their dinner, while Hannibal had stayed in front of the fireplace to read.

> _»Is it not better to be freed from cares and agues, from love and melancholy, and the other hot and cold fits of life, than like a galled traveller, who comes weary to his inn, to be bound to begin his journey afresh?«  
>  _

Hannibal read the sentence for the third time without making any progress.

For a while he did not stir, simply listening to the inviting sound of burbling water. Then he closed his book and stood up.

Hannibal would not do the first step. But he could provoke Will.

He headed for the bathroom and stayed in front of the closed door for a moment before opening it. Warm vapor met him and soaked his skin slightly.

Will's naked body was only indistinctly visible through the misty glass of the shower partition. Hannibal closed the door behind himself and leaned against the wall. He was satisfied to observe instead of participating.

Will's senses had sharpened. Or perhaps they had become so aligned with each other that the presence of the other was physically palpable. Will turned around and their gazes met for a short moment through the fogged-up windows.

The jet of water stopped abruptly and Will thrust the shower door aside, succumbing to Hannibal's unclouded inspection.

Hannibal followed the journey of a single water drop. His eyes accompanied its way from Will's chin to the base of his long throat, over the pale skin and the blue veins underneath. The droplet struggled to traverse his left clavicle for a moment, until it went on his way down a chest, past a nipple that was erect from the sudden cold and surrounded by a few hairs. Moving south, quicker now, down ribs that barely showed through skin. The drop of water crossed the jagged line of the scar Hannibal had left him with and forced its way around Will's navel, parallel to a path of dark hair, before it reached its destination in wet curls and became unrecognizable to Hannibal's eye. His gaze went further down still.

Hannibal wanted to cross the distance between them, wanted to follow the route of the water drop with hand and tongue, wanted to feel Will's warm, wet body under his fingertips. He wanted to trace the contours of the scar and explore the texture of its surface. He wanted to find out if his caresses could convince the soft flesh between Will's thighs to harden. 

Suddenly a white towel blocked his view. Hannibal looked up and met Will's icy cold eyes.

»Is something the matter?« Will asked.

Hannibal had made his decision on a whim, like he often times did. He had no reason to be here, other than that it amused him to fathom Will's reaction.

»How long do you plan on keeping this farce up, Will?«

Will approached him with slow steps, not taking his eyes off of him. He possessed the elegance of a predatory animal. His muscles shifted when he planted himself in front of Hannibal. He was an inch shorter, but it hardly mattered at the moment.

He breathed quite heavily. Hannibal did not know if he was angry. His face betrayed no emotions.

Hannibal reminisced about their last evening in his kitchen in Baltimore. Will's brown hair had hung darker in his eyes than usual. Black, like blood in the moonlight.

Hannibal wanted to touch him as he had done before. He felt this dangerous wish like we feel the urge to stretch our hand through the bars to pet the lion. He did it.

Will showed his usual reaction to his tenderness – None. He did not reject him, but he did not encourage him to continue, either.

Hannibal cupped his face with customary cautiousness, trailed the lines of his face and his ear patiently to renew his memories of it. He gave himself the opportunity to thumb Will's closed mouth, to feel the pliancy of his lips for the very first time. Will retreated mentally, moved away from him, waiting for the cutting knife after the gentle contact. It hurt. Hannibal wanted him to stay.

Would it relieve Will's psyche, Hannibal wondered, if he were to retrieve memories of abuse with his hands and turned them into eroticism?

»Will you kill me now?« Will asked. His voice was exanimate.

Hannibal's wound deepened further. »I don't want to kill you.«

»No? How else would you eat me?«

Hannibal could never entirely predict Will Graham and so his answer surprised him yet again.

»Why would I-«

»You don't know what you want, do you?« Will interrupted. »You pretend that I'm the one who is in denial, while you're still mulling over whether you want to kill me, or eat me, or fuck me.«

Hannibal paused for a moment. »I haven't thought about eating you.«

»Yeah. That's why it's called denial, Hannibal.«

For a second Hannibal thought Will would pull him into his arms, initiate contact, like he had done only once before. Hannibal longed for it – Haptic perception could never rival the tactile, no matter how much more precise it was.

Instead, Will's hand placed itself feathery against his crotch. Almost not enough pressure to be felt at all through the material of his pants. It still forced every last bit of air out of Hannibal's lungs.

»Do you think I care about the thing that dangles between your legs? That that's the reason why I reject you? You're not a man, Hannibal. You're a monster. You want to eat me. Devour me. How could I kiss the lips that want to taste the flavor of my flesh?«


	5. Gustatus

Hannibal could perceive Will with all of his senses.

He knew how he smelled, how he looked, how he sounded and how he felt.

But he did not know how he tasted.

Hannibal had an insatiable craving for that experience. He wanted to taste Will's lips, lick the sweat from his heated skin, swallow his semen and bury his tongue between his cheeks.

And he wanted to eat him.

He would always want it, all of it. 

He was capable of suppressing the appetite for Will's skin between his teeth. He was capable of ignoring the hunger that only Will's flesh could assuage. It was hardly a choice. If he consumed Will, he would be gone, no matter how overpowering the lust to keep him inside of him forever was.

»No one forces you to stay, Will,« Hannibal heard himself say.

Will arched his right eyebrow in a condescending matter.

He was so beautiful. What Hannibal would do for just a mouthful. For just a sample.

»I could call the FBI. Call them and tell Jack a story that is close enough to the truth. And you would rot away in a cell for the rest of your life – If they didn't kill you.«

»But you don't,« Hannibal assessed.

Will looked at him for a long time. »I'm curious. Why do you think I refrain from doing that?«

Parts of him he would devour as they were. Uncooked and raw. Will's pure taste. The other parts of him would be transformed into a delicate feast. Will would be his masterpiece – The banquet on which Hannibal would perish.

»Because you think of yourself as my keeper. You think you deserve a life of suffering, after you failed to kill us both. To amend for your sins.«

Will laughed. There was no joy in the sound. »You are incredibly stupid sometimes, Hannibal.«

Hannibal cocked his head. Will's impudence was nourishment for his underserved soul.

Will's Hand twitched against Hannibal's loin and pierced him with full-flavored agony.

»Have you ever considered the possibility...« Will said slowly as if Hannibal was dim-witted. »that I _want_ to stay?«

There were emotions seeping through the ironclad shield. Hannibal could sense that Will felt doomed. He could also sense the burning desire that he felt himself. Feelings that stood in conflict with each other, that Will had hidden for too long. Will had thought that showing them would be interpreted as weakness. He had feared that Hannibal would exploit them.

He had amused himself with women. Not in order to ignore, but to vanquish. A pointless affair. This thing between them would eat them both alive.

»Will,« Hannibal said compassionately. His name formed like a prayer in Hannibal's mouth.

Will was as close as he had been at the bluff. His eyes were liquid blue and Will's sentiments flushed through them like foam. Hannibal wanted to allay his thirst on them, wanted to fill his lungs with and drown in them like he was meant to in the Atlantic.

Hannibal was so horribly hungry and the temptation terribly sore. He knew it was a mistake before he did it. He bend forward in search of foreign lips, his eyes half-closed.

Will had drunk a few fingers of whiskey. Hannibal was able to feel the sweet, smokey flavor on his tongue before he reached Will's mouth. He came to a stand before he arrived at his goal when a finger pressed against his lips. He was not surprised. He wondered why it still tormented him.

Hannibal opened his eyes and made contact with Will's. He had readjusted the dam. He could not do it.

It was not enough for Hannibal. Will starved because it was too much. 

»Get down on your knees.«

Hannibal's legs gave out under him as if Will's command could control his body. He was too weak to maintain the fight for power any longer. And Will was aware of that. It soothed him.

Hannibal snuggled his nose into the smooth fabric of the towel. Will smelled clean and inviting and absolutely irresistible. 

Will ran his fingers through his hair, letting a pleading sound escape from Hannibal's throat.

»Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis,« Hannibal whispered.

And Will had mercy on him.

Hannibal saw no tremble in Will's hands when he let the veiling cloth hit the floor.

Will's cock was soft and pale and utterly flawless. Hannibal rubbed his face against his skin, dabbled his supple thighs with numerous, affectionate kisses. It was Hannibal's viaticum – Refreshing and lethal at the same time. He could smell Will becoming interested in his ministrations before he saw it.

He looked up at Will and Will looked down at him. Mighty and dauntless. Hannibal would burn down whole cities for this man. For his own personal God.

»Go on,« Will requested. His voice was resolute – And yet there was a gentleness in it that Hannibal had not heard in months. »I know you want to. Taste me.«

Hannibal took his Holy Communion without further delay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that!
> 
> Another word that I'm sad to have lost in the translation is "todgeweiht". I translated it with "doomed", but it would mean "sanctified for death" if translated literally. And, you know, "geweiht" also means "antlered". GET IT?  
> Anyway, that was your German lesson for today! ; )
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this short story! 
> 
> Come visit me on my [ tumblr ](http://www.pka42.tumblr.com/)!


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